The Storm

• Eden Grant, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2013

You don’t know when it’s coming. You don’t know where it will hit. All you know is when it does hit nothing will stand in its way. Some think it’s a curse from the gods, but I don’t know what to think. It seems so surreal until you see it up close. It splits families, leaves children orphaned and kills innocent people.
No one knows what it is or why it occurs. No one has told us anything about it. Scientists have been trying to somehow find a pattern to its destruction. Despite what they say, I suspect they have found nothing but refuse to admit it.
Some religious groups are calling it ‘dag des oordeels’. It’s Dutch for doomsday. Personally I like to call it ‘the storm’, because the first time it hit it killed hundreds, leaving very few survivors. The ones that did survive describe it as a humongous wave, followed by a whirling mix of freezing cold rain and torrential winds. Then there was a quite patch, with not even a cloud in the sky. The peace did not last for long. Soon after, the wind and the rain returned, more hazardous than ever before. They said, “It was like a storm that came out of nowhere, with no warning at all”.
No one believed them of course. It was ridiculous. Not even I believed them. Doctors said it must have been a hallucination caused by the lack of air. If only someone had listened to those poor folks. If only I had listened. They may be alive this day if someone had. Most died from their wounds or suicide. But all of them died because of ‘the storm’.
When I first heard about the storm I was listening to the radio. There was an urgent news break. The reporter said a horrible storm had demolished an entire town. At the beginning I thought it was a joke. “Come on,” I had said, “this is ridiculous!” No storm wrecks an entire town. It was so preposterous I called one of my friends who worked at the radio station and told him how funny that last report was, but my laughter soon changed to cries of absolute terror.
Now sitting here, weeks later, a feeling of doom is sinking into my very core. I’m looking out at the horizon. The dark menacing clouds seem to loom just out of reach. From my apartment I can hear the beach sirens blasting through the air. Screams of fright and confusion are ringing in my ears from the other side of town.
My father always told me to be strong even in the darkest of hours. As his only son, I guess he felt responsible for making me a man. However not even he could prepare me for ‘the storm’.